I know it's everybody's sin,
You got to lose to know how to win... 
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away.

-Dream On

The monotone hum of jet engines didn't amuse her nearly so much this time.

"Would you like me to take that and put it in storage for you Miss Luciano?"  The stewardess asked softly, the sort of voice one used on a private flight in the middle of the night when your very rich boss was fast asleep mere feet away.

"No."  She said quiet, but firm.

"Perhaps a blanket and pillow ..."

"I'm fine."  She snapped. 

The woman, finally seeming to understand there was no comfort which could truly be given to her customer, walked back up the aisle to the front of the plane.  Who knew what she did up there.  Isabella certainly didn't care.  Right now her mind was a jumbled mess of images and noises playing over and over.  

Her hands caressed her father's jacket, fingers gliding along the seams as if memorizing the placement of every stitch and even imperfection so it could be recalled with crystal clarity at a later date.

Behind her she heard Salvatore stop snoring.  She turned her head back to notice him lifting the brim of his fedora up to peak at her.  The corner of her lip turned up slight, but it was all the smile she could manage.  Her hands clenched tight on the jacket which was laid across her lap and out of Lucky's sight.

When he pushed the brow back, indicating that he wasn't going back to sleep right away, she carefully tucked the jacket under her things and stood up, walking back to sit beside him.  They were the only ones on this private flight - a whole plane to themselves ... well, them and the small army that was Salvatore's bodyguards, most of whom were fast asleep at this unGodly hour.

"We've got hours yet."  Isabella said sitting down beside her dad.  She was dressed in slacks tonight, rare - but far more practical than a skirt for the sort of work they had done.  "You should get more sleep."  She pushed a raven lock behind her ear, her face illuminated by a tiny dome light that felt like something used on a stage.  The seat all around her were so dark she could barely make out who was in each of them.  It felt like they were alone.  In a fashion, she mused, they were.  Not a man here would breathe a word of what she said to him or him to her... they'd die first.  Such was their loyalty and she'd seen that tonight.

She took Lucky's hand into her own and fussed at a small spot of dried blood on the cuff of his white dress shirt.  "Damn."  She said softly and began to stand up.  "I'll get some seltzer from the stewardess.  It'll take that right out."  She moved quickly so he couldn't object to her desire to help him.  At least I'll prove useful ONCE tonight...

She brought back a small hand towel and wet it with the seltzer water.  Sitting down next to Lucky she diligently scrubbed at the stain.  "If you want, I'll stay here in this seat while you sleep.  You've barely slept at all."

Lucky sat in his chair and watched his daughter walk to get something for his cuff. The blood wasn't his or one of his men he just had been a little to close to his target for one of his shots and caught a little splatter. He didn't care about the shirt but he could tell something was bothering his daughter and that did bother him. 

The war was unavoidable and unfortunate. He only brought her to learn and keep her safe. Her job was to watch his back, although with his men he knew she wouldn't need to do much. His guys were veterans and worked well together. They knew what each other was going to do and played off of that so that nothing happened which allowed Lucky to do his job. 

But he wanted her to see the dark side of the life. War. It wasn't pretty or glamorous it costed a fortune but from time to time it had to be done. 

Lucky sat up and waited for her to return to him. 

As the blood stain came up from the fabric, Isabella sighed.  "Better."  She said as she put aside the bottle of water and cloth.  She pat his hand.  

"You know, Mom use to dream of riding on a plane.  Nothing like this, all alone - too fancy, she just thought it would be neat to be up in the air above the clouds.  When I got on that plane in New York to come to you it was about the most exciting thing that I figured was ever going to happen to me."

She sat back in the seat beside him.  "I was stealing to eat.  I had no idea where I'd be staying month to month.  And now... I have access to more money than mom saw in her whole damn life."  She didn't mention how she was certain her mother wouldn't have approved of how she'd come into it.  Especially not after what happened tonight.  In fact, she was sure her mother would have reminded her that murder got you a fast pass to Hell.

She looked at her Dad, he wasn't saying anything.  He just listened and let her talk.  She looked forward.  He wanted to know what was on her mind.  She had to tell him something, but the truth was a gaping wound in her heart that caused a massive boulder to form in her throat when she thought about it.  She wouldn't cry.  She wouldn't break down like that and leave him to question her ability to do this.

"I don't really think about much when we hurt people... them, you... me."  she shrugged.  "I've been thinking about that a lot lately.  About why it doesn't make me sick with myself, and how it is I can either be so angry that I can justify it... or just not care.  I mean, some of those people, I should have felt something for.  Women, you know?"  She looked at him.

"I just didn't.  It's like, in my head, they're not people anymore.  Just... targets.  Work to be done."  She looks down at her lap.  "I wonder, what sort of woman I really am... and what my mother would have thought if she had ever known this about me."  She looks back to Salvatore, "And what you must think of me." 

Lucky held his daughter's hand. 

"Your mother was a good person but she knew what I did for a living. She wasn't apart of it and didn't want to know the details but she grew up around this life," he said to her. 

"We are soldier for our families and cities. For the most part its about making money and growing. But occasionally we have to do things that are not so pleasant. I feel for everyone I kill but I don't let it get to me. They would do the same to me if I gave them a chance." he says 

He didn't know if this was helping. He hoped his bad explanation was at least helping. 

"I am proud of you and how you handled yourself. And the fact you are able to deal with it so easily is a huge plus. It's not the glamorous side of the job but its a necessity." he says. 

"Thanks, Dad..."  She said, glad that he was proud of her.  "Maybe next time I can be more than morale support."  She forced a smile and leaned over kissing his cheek.  "Get some sleep, okay?"

She stood up and went back to her seat and after a moment of sitting there she pulled out his jacket once more.  She figured she'd tell him she left it accidentally at the hotel they booked.  Anything really, just so long as he didn't come looking for it.

She ran her finger down the sleeve and stopped at the cut in the fabric.  It hadn't even gone through his shirt, but it had hit the jacket which meant it was inches from hitting him... his vital organs... inches from her going from having one parent she barely knew... to none.

She knew she was an adult and shouldn't *need* her parents anymore, plenty of folks went day to day without them, but the loss of her mother was still fresh in her mind and she was growing fond of her father.  She couldn't imagine a life in the mob without him as her guide and mentor... let alone life in general.

She'd begun to like the idea of him giving her away at her wedding one day, of him playing with her children (if she ever had them) and all the other things she'd never had to think about before.  But this little tear in his jacket, no bigger than an inch, could have been the end of all those dreams.  Isabella hugged the jacket and then tucked it into her bag.

This time when the stewardess came by, she asked the woman for a blanket and did her best to fall asleep - hoping to dream of something other than becoming an orphan.